


A Damn Good Night

by Peterpanslostgirl



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Awkward Sexual Situations, Everyone is Dead, Gift Fic, M/M, One Shot, Prompt Fic, except for krista lmao, jmgiftexchange2015, she's alive, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5511350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peterpanslostgirl/pseuds/Peterpanslostgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Marco gets a new job and Jean tries to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Damn Good Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecanadianjean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecanadianjean/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, thecanadianjean! Surprise, I'm your secret santa! Hope I didn't totally fuck up your prompt request, haha :) Enjoy :))

 

 

MARCO

 

 

As it turns out, selling your soul to get tickets to see your favorite band is considered a "lame way" to go (Jean says so, though he also said he totally would've done the same. Eren says so. Levi just says I'm a fucking idiot), and I can't say I'd recommend it. Honestly, there's not much to tell about it, it was a great concert, but after sitting in the waiting room of this hot as hell (literally, Jean says) building for exactly two hours, three minutes, and thirteen, fourteen, fifteen seconds, I have to say, I agree with the three of them. I expected I'd go out with a little more...dignity, I suppose, but we can't all die saving a kitten from a burning building like Levi (he's totally a softie under that hard, male model-esque shell) or pushing someone out of the way of a hydroplaning semi-truck like Eren. In the last two hours, four minutes, and twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three seconds, Jean has shared just about everybody's death story but his own. He was the one to retrieve me after the six months Eren (the demon I sold my soul to) agreed on was up. I turn to the dirty blonde now, his sharp jawline just a foot to the left of me. Maybe if I reached out just a little...

  
"Are you going to do that all day?"

  
"Uh, hah?" _Way to go, Marco. Really smooth. Embarrass yourself in front of the pretty boy, why don't you._ Jean turns towards me with an electric smirk and his toffee eyes reflect the fire from the torches on the walls. His lips are still a rosy pink, even though he's surely been dead for at least a decade, judging by his grungy, nineties apparel. His hair fans from the left side of his head to the right, some falling over his eyes and it takes all I have in me not to reach over and push it out of his face.

  
"Hello," he says in a sing-song voice. I swallow and raise an eyebrow, attempting to keep my cool. I ask what he's talking about and his lips twitch up in an impossibly quick grin.

  
"Stare at me. Are you going to do that all day? Because if so, I could use some practice with my smolder and Armin always says it's better to practice with someone other than your reflection." He grins again, this time longer and with a condescending feel about it. I scoff at him and turn my head, trying to find anything to look at but him. I hear him snort a little bit and I roll my eyes. _What a prick._

 

JEAN

 

It's been three months, two weeks, five days, seventeen hours, thirty-eight minutes, and one, two, three seconds since I died. Marco seems to think I died sometime back in the nineties, he's said so within the last two hours, seven minutes, and however many seconds (that's the thing about death, you become increasingly aware of just how well time passes while you're not trying to slow it down, you're suddenly able to calculate the time down to the second, simply because you no longer need to worry about having somewhere to be). I can't really help that my dad raised me into Nirvana and Pink Floyd instead of N'Sync and the Backstreet Boys. Marco's eyes flit around the room and I take the opportunity to memorize his features. His hair swoops back off of his forehead from all the times he's shoved his hand through it, though a couple of strands still frame his face. There's a shit ton of freckles splashed on his face, creating tiny constellation fences around his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. Peculiarly, his left cheek is completely devoid of freckles or blemishes and they're scarce around his right eye. I open my mouth to ask him about it, but Armin opens his office door quicker than I can speak.

  
"Marco Bodt?" 

Marco's eyes shoot to Armin and he stands quickly. I follow his lead at a more leisurely pace and we walk into Armin's office. The walls are covered in old newspaper clippings retailing the deaths of the people Armin's helped over the past half century or so. I'm able to quickly spot my own and clear my throat, avoiding the eye contact Marco is trying to make with me. He raises an eyebrow and glances around. I ignore his attempt and sit myself on the love-seat across from Armin's desk. Armin stays standing in his nineteen forties pinstripe suit and that dumb hat he insists on wearing (he recently cut all his hair off and he's a little self conscience about it). Marco hesitantly sits next to me, crossing and uncrossing his legs until he's awkwardly sitting straight as a board with his right leg crossed over his left at the knee, his hands clasped tightly on top of them.I can't imagine what he's thinking.

 

MARCO

 

I don't know what I'm thinking. I focus my eyes on the desk in front of me, deliberately neglecting the articles on the walls surrounding me. I can feel the blonde who called my name earlier, Armin Arlert, judging by the plaque on his desk, eyeing me and I stare harder at the desk. Jean clears his throat and I see him gesture for Armin to start talking in my peripheral. I glance up to see the blonde pulling out a file and sitting across from the two of us. He pulls out some thick, black framed glasses and gently sets them on the bridge of his nose.

"Alrighty, let's get started," he smiles up at us and I furrow my eyebrows. I ask him what exactly we're doing and he cocks his head to the side a bit, I think he's trying to be sly when his eyes flit to Jean, but I still catch it. He clears his throat before speaking again.

"Your assignment. Everybody down here has a job of sorts and I assign those jobs based on personality traits, past actions, and favorite ice cream flavor- trust me, it can make a big difference. So, I'm going to ask you a series of questions, and based on your answers, I'll have your new job determined, okay? It's important that you're completely honest about your answers, otherwise you could be stuck doing something that doesn't fit you very well. First question, have you ever peed in a public poo-Jean stop laughing, I'm pretty sure your answer was yes."

 

  
\---

 

 

It takes seven minutes and three seconds to finish all of Armin's questions and by the time we're done, I feel like I was interviewed to be part of the damn secret service. I honestly had no idea there are so many different ways to ask if somebody is a virgin, but apparently, there are and Armin's found every way. My cheeks feel hot and my palms are sweating, but at least we're done with it. Armin clicks a few things into the black laptop on his desk and then pulls back. 

"Okay, so basically, I've imputed your answers into the system and in a few seconds, we should have your job and mentor assignment," he smiles at this. "Your mentor is the one that's going to make sure you don't do a shitty job or fuck up any important matters." 

We hear a ding and Armin slides the computer closer to him, squinting to read the text. He leans back and whistles, scratching his eyebrow with one hand and rubbing his chin with the other. He takes a minute and we all sit in silence before he nudges the computer towards Jean, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. Jean takes the computer with a skeptical look on his face. He skims the page and I lean over to get a better view. The page looks like the results of one of those ' _Which character from Harry Potter are you?_ ' quizzes and I have to snort at that. Reading further, I find what I'm looking for. 

**_ASSIGNMENT: INCUBUS_ **  
**_MENTOR: JEAN KIRSCHTEIN_ **

  
Jean's grin is almost sinister when I ask "what the hell is an incubus?"

\---

  
JEAN

 

 

"Okay," I start, "there's really no kiddie pool to this, if we're bein' real. You either stay on the metaphorical beach and wait for the titans that roam around hell to come eat you, or you jump head first into the metaphorical ocean and do your damn job, got it? Got it, good." Marco looks incredibly nervous (and hot) in his new attire. His henley from earlier had been replaced with a dark v neck and his sweats with some skinnies. I hold the door to the club open and as he steps inside, I try and fail to keep my eyes off his ass. The New Orleans' bar is a bit dim with flickering lights and there's a low thump from the beat of the music. I'm immediately relaxed as I'm used to this sort of environment. I place my hand on the small of Marco's back and lead him to an empty table in the corner. I scan the room for anybody who could be a good first... _patron_ (calling them victims makes me feel worse than I already do about this job). I spot a tiny, kind looking blonde perched on a bar stool a few feet away. She has a beer in one hand and a smart phone in the other. _Perfect_. I tap Marco when I see that he's spaced out and point at the girl. He shrugs and gets up to leave the table.

"Wait!" I clear my throat and stumble a bit to find the right words. I almost don't want him to go just so I can keep him to myself. "Uh, just remember, consent isn't _technically_ necessary for the job, but if I'm going to be your mentor, you better _damn_ well act like it is, okay? Don't be an ass, not that I really think you would be. Good luck." Marco stares at me for a second before nodding and sort of shuffling up to the bar. I sit back in my chair and watch him awkwardly slide (read: _trip_ ) into the space next to the blonde. She looks up from her phone and I swear to the goddess Maria he looks like the fucking Cheshire Cat. I rub my hand down my face and try to keep cool. Maybe she's into that whole Charles Manson-Sharon Tate dynamic ( _highly_ _unlikely_ ). I can already see her turning him down before he's even spoken. Damn, new record. Marco takes a deep breath, does an awkward wave, and scurries back to our table here in the corner. He doesn't even look at me, just lays his head on the table and groans. He mumbles something unintelligible and I have to ask him to repeat it. He groans again before lifting his head up off the table slightly to meet my amused gaze with an unimpressed one.

"I _said_ , as much as I enjoy entertaining you and making a fool of myself, I don't think this job is a good fit for me. I'm too..."

"Awkward? Dorky? Clumsy? _Artless?_ " I raise an eyebrow and he just growls at me.

"I was going to say _nervous_ , you pretentious ass." I grin at that and he just rolls his eyes. Honestly, he wouldn't know how to be seductive if he had a manual, and I'm pretty sure nothing could ever change that. I tell him this and he growls again.

"I could be seductive!" I scoff and his eyes light up with a new passion that I haven't seen yet. I lean closer to him, my palms flat against the table with my fingers spread out. I do my best to look at him through my eyelashes and make my voice come out a little raspy.

"You wouldn't know seductive if it knelt in front of you begging to suck your dick. If it called you daddy and sucked your ne-" Marco cuts me off with his hand clasped tight in the collar of my leather jacket and I smirk. _There he is._ I smile at him and pat his cheek before standing up and walking out of the bar. I should really be teaching him how to pick up patrons, but what's work without a little fun? I don't have to turn around to know he's followed me out the door. I look around when I get outside and breathe in the New Orleans air. It's raining now (how did that happen? We were only inside for three minutes and thirty-nine seconds) and I can already feel my hair plastering to my face. I wait until I hear the door close behind Marco to shove my hands in my pockets and walk down the alley between the bar and the fortune telling shop next door. The luminescent neon signs are the only source of light besides a single streetlamp that's clearly running on empty. The lights dance in the reflections of the puddles and I smile softly to myself. I look back the way I came to see Marco stalking towards me. He looks kind of pissed, or maybe _determined_ , I can't really tell, so I try and defuse the situation.

"Look, Marco, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to piss you off, dude, but-"

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Jean." 

He presses into my personal space and I feel my back press against the wet brick of the fortune teller's shop. His hair is matted to his forehead and his breath is coming out raspy and short.

"Do you want this? Do you want me?" I nod and he presses closer.

"That's not an answer, Jean. I need a yes or a no. _Do. You. Want. This?_ "

I shudder slightly- whether it's from the chill that's begun to seep through my clothes or the heat I'm feeling from Marco, I'm not sure- and gasp out a 'yes'. That's apparently all the confirmation he needs because as soon as the word leaves my mouth, his lips are on mine and we're sharing oxygen.He presses his front against mine and shoves me harder into the wall. He puts his hands flat against the wall on either side of my head and it brings us closer still. Marco licks at my bottom lip and as soon as my mouth parts in the slightest, he's just there. It feels like I was made to kiss his lips and he was made to suck on mine. He breaks apart and I think he's done when he swoops down and mouths, hot and wet against my collarbone. I let out a whine and it seems to encourage him because he starts sucking, surely leaving a nice, dark hickey. I card my fingers into his hair and pull his mouth back to mine.. I can feel myself getting hard and I've never really had any shame, so I reach between us to palm at myself, but my hand grazes Marco's hardness in the process and well, I might as well keep it there. I turn my hand away and press against the bulge in his pants, relishing in the way it twitches against my fingertips. I rub his dick through the denim and he moans into my mouth. I reach my hand into his waistband and go to pull-

"Excuse me, what the _hell_ do you boys think you're doing?" I rip my hand out of Marco's pants and he jumps away from me. Down the alley, a short, wrinkly little lady is standing and it's clear that she's the owner of the fortune telling shop my back is still pressed against. "Uh-uh, not on _my_ building, you don't! Don't you hooligans know _anything_ about sex repulsed spirits? Honestly, it's like today's youth has no respect for the asexual spirit spectrum, I should teach a damn class..." She stomps back through the side door and a little bell jingles that I didn't hear before. Marco and I stare at the door for a few seconds before he snorts. I turn my attention to him and furrow my eyebrows. 

"What's so funny, Bodt?" He starts giggling at that and then bursts into laughter. A small smile starts to spread on my face and soon, I'm laughing too. "We just got told off by an old lady! And she was a fucking _fortune_ _teller_ ," we both laugh even harder at that and he leans his forehead onto my shoulder as his continue shaking. We spend the rest of the night laughing and kissing in the still pouring rain, not even worrying about Marco's new job as an incubus or my shitty mentoring. We just enjoy each other's company, and it's a damn good night.


End file.
